The Imperial Guard against the Orks
by Muzikman
Summary: The forces of the Imperial Guard go to war with the greenskins THIS IS AN AU. Sorry for any confusion caused
1. Prologue

The roar of the orks shuddered through Delta squad leader Cortez's body. He returned the roar with an even fiercer one of his own. Emboldened by his war-cry his squad surged towards the orks, firing assault rifles and armor-piercing sniper rifles. The green-skinned orks fell before the salvo of deadly metal, their green blood sinking into the parched ground. Cortez's victory was short-lived however, as another row of orks rose to take the place of their fallen brethren. Beside Cortez, his squad rose to the challenge without faltering. The clatter of his assault rifle in his ears, Cortez almost missed the shouted "Fire in the hole!" As it was, he heard it and threw himself sideways as a hand grenade bounced and exploded near the spot where he was just a moment ago.

Frenzied orks flew in every direction, many missing a limb or two, others missing the entire lower half of their bodies. Adrenaline pumping, Cortez roared and held the trigger of his rifle for a full five seconds, strafing the front line of orks and felling many. The orks enraged let rip a deafening cry of their own that seemed to shake the ground, the sky and the very heavens. Cortez took two bullets in the shoulder and another in the leg. Nearby his teammates also several hits, opening up jagged, red holes that spurted blood and stained the dusty ground. Yet the seriously wounded ones found themselves treated by the ever-present medics and they soon rejoined the fray.

Dropping his rifle due to his numb left hand, Cortez pulled out a bolter from his hip holster and dropped to one knee. Conserving bullets, he dropped three orks with shots to the head and two others by punching ragged holes in their chests. To his left, out of his peripheral vision he saw an ork raise a blood-stained axe against him. _Too slow!_ his mind screamed. Cortez braced himself for the inevitable pain that would follow the landing of the blow. A nanosecond before the blow was due to land, the ork's head jerked violently to the left. A tiny cloud of green blood flew out of the left temple, preceded by a small metal bullet. The force of the bullet was so great that it went clean through the ork's thick skull. The ork just slumped to the ground as if he had lost the will to fight. Apart from the surprised look fixed on the ork's face for all eternity, only the glazed eyes and small pool of blood leaking out from his temples gave any indication that the ork was dead. Cortez spun around to spot Alex crouched on a slightly raised slab of rock, sniper rifle pressed against his shoulder, eyes looking through his scope narrowed and deadly. The icy demeanor dropped long enough for him to give Cortez a wave and Cortez to return in kind; and his game face back on he turned to take some other ork's life and save his teammate's one with the same bullet. _Snipers, gotta love 'em_, Cortez thought wryly to himself.

His mind was wrenched back to the battlefield by a pair of green-skins charging towards him, each wielding a pair of axes. Cortez quickly raised his gun and loosed two bullets, both finding their mark in the middle of an ork's forehead. The other leaped and swung his axe down in a deadly arc aimed at Cortez's head. "Get off!" Cortez snarled as in an amazing feat of reflexes and skill, he parried the blow with the top of his bolter! Finding that the axe was lodged firmly in the top of the gun, Cortez made his move. In a split second, Cortez threw his gun to the ground, taking the axe with it, wrenched a _second_ bolter free of its holster, leveled it at the ork's head and loosed two rounds at point blank range. Cortez closed his eyes momentarily as he was splattered with brains and slimy green blood.

The tide was turning for the worse. Cortez's team contained a dozen men, while the orks seemed limitless. When Cortez or his men dropped an ork, two more rose to take his place. However Alex radioed in: "The orks are falling sir. They seem limitless because of the hill. In fact there are only around a hundred left."

Hearing this gave Cortez new hope. He quickly asked for information, and Alex replied that they were quite closely bunched together. Cortez hatched a plan, asked for suggestions from his squad and received the unanimous approval of the squad. "Lock and load, squad!" Cortez yelled.

With Cortez at the front, Delta squad charged towards the orks, letting rip all the ammo they could muster for the final charge. The orks faltered for a second in face of this bare-faced aggression, and responded in kind. Grenades were exchanged; rockets passed each other in flight; bullets ripped into ork and human skin alike. Beside him a squad member took a bullet; in front an ork suffered the same fate. A grenade sent orks flying; a rocket seriously injured many of Delta squad. _Just a bit closer_, Cortez screamed in his mind. A bullet ruled a red line across his cheek; another buried itself in the already- disabled left arm. _Do it now_! His mind urged._ Now_!

Bellowing defiance in face of the deadly projectiles loosed from the orks' clattering guns, Cortez holstered his bolter and replaced it with a pair of plasma grenades. With a cry of "Eat these!!" Cortez yanked the pins out with gusto and slung the deadly loads high into the air. Time seemed to slow.

Five… the twin orbs, deceptively small, flew towards the bloodstained sky…

Four… the grenades reached the zenith of their flight and hung there, weightless, for countless milliseconds…

Three… gravity started applying its force to the two balls of death, sending them down, down, down…

Two… as if sent from the very gods, the two spherical containers of doom fell into the midst of the oblivious orks…

One… Impacting against the ground, they flattened slightly and rebounded upwards…

Zero.

Having reached chest height, the grenades exploded, Super-heated plasma, propelled by the explosion of the grenades flew outwards and splattered over any exposed surface. Where it landed on ork skin, deadly effects took hold immediately. The slime-green callused skin of the orks _burned_. The orks screamed from the depths of their souls as their blood vessels erupted due to the blood boiling from the heat of the plasma. Blood erupted from the nose, ears, mouth and eyes. Within seconds all the orks in range of the two grenades would be dead, every second worth a century of pain. "Now _that's_ what I call hot blooded," Alex remarked.


	2. Chapter 1

In the year 40,000… 

The universe is ruled by the 8 great races. The Space Marines, not humans but superhumans, made superior in all aspects to mortal men by a harsh regime of genetic alterations, mental and physical conditionings, and rigorous training. They are devoted to Emperor and Imperium with a single-minded loyalty. Their morale is near-unbreakable, their weapons are deadly, and their determination is titanium.

The Chaos Space Marines, the legions of space marines who forsook their allegiance to the Emperor and swore loyalty to the hordes of Chaos. Their armor and weapons, so like those of the Space Marines, are augmented by the dark Chaos magic that coursed through their veins. Their morale is nowhere near as that of the Space Marines, but they are determined that their foes should suffer the same fate. Their bloodied armor is stained with blood, bear fearsome spiked objects and induce fear into any foe who beholds the sight. Their loyalty is to the Demons of the Warp, the otherworldly Demons who have been banished to the Warp, but who the Chaos Space Marines have allied with to gain power.

The Eldar, the wisest of all the races. They are not of the race of humans, but of a separate civilization that has flourished away from mankind. Their technology is unsurpassed, with Webway Gates allowing them to pass through space instantaneously, personal teleportation devices that allow them to warp short distances, and cloaking devices that shield everything from all but the keenest senses. They follow the Farseer, the wisest of all Eldar who command the race.

The Orks, the most barbaric race in the universe. They are not one single unified civilization, but clans that align themselves under a multitude of banners. They are almost constantly at war with one another, which keeps them busy enough to stop them from annoying the other races. They live solely for battle, and anything that can damage and hurt is used. Their weapons are crude and prone to failure, they wield bladed weapons with no enhancements whatsoever and their buildings are made with materials that are found easily. However their brute strength is not to be underestimated, and their numbers can overwhelm even the best of armies. Their Waaagh! is their driving force in their lives, a psychic force that allows Orks to instinctively form a hierarchy. It also gives them their bloodlust. Each clan follows their Warboss, the biggest and the baddest of all the Orks. The Warboss can be recognized by his incredible size (some have been known to be over six meters in height), his armaments and the general impression of brute power.

The Tau Empire, masses of technologically-superior warriors fighting alongside other races in the name of the Greater Good. Their withering firepower has brought many an enemy to their knees, and they seek to convert the entire universe to the Greater Good.

The Tyranids, bug-like creatures that wield fearsome bio-weapons or genetically-modified talons and teeth. They are part of a Hive Mind that governs them. They live to serve the Hive Mind and they live to destroy all life, turning it into bio-matter for their Hive Mind.

The Necrons, undead warriors that have lain dormant until very recently. Now their gods, the evil C'tan, have once again woken them to do their bidding, to cause the extinction of life in the entire universe. The gods desire souls to feast on, and the Necrons seek to give them what they wish. Armed with Gauss weapons with massive destructive powers, and gifted with the ability to regenerate, the Necrons have started to march once again.

Finally, the Imperial Guard. The last remains of the once great-race of mankind, who have rejected the idea of fusing with machinery to preserve their human natures. To survive, almost all of them have become warriors, forming the Imperial Guardsmen. They serve to protect the Imperium, the wisest of all mankind. They govern over all of mankind, including the Imperial Guard. Because they are only human, their morale is easily shattered. However, their numbers are great and they possess many strong leaders that embolden the Guardsmen to greater feats of courage.

The war against the orks had not started until recently. Normally the war-like race kept their distance, their realm confined to the most inhabitable places. Recently that began to change. The orks began raiding nearby villages, burning and plundering all they found. They took women as slaves, and killed the others. Child, man and baby all fell under their cruel blade. The massacre continued for several months before the council of the Imperial Guard decided to put a stop to the senseless killing.

The 1st to the 5th squadrons of the 1st division of Imperial Guards were dispatched to the northern regions, the 6th to the 10th to the south. The five remaining squadrons remained to defend the command center of the realm under Imperial Guard control: what the troops now called Safe Haven. The second division was divided up in pretty much the same manner, but with east and west instead of north and south. The 3rd and 4th divisions were split up to north-east, north-west, south-east and south-west respectively. The last division- 5th division was in charge of the general security of Safe Haven.

Cortez was part of the Imperial Guard- the army of Mankind. He was part of the minority of Imperial Guardsmen that was born into the army, his hereditary allegiance increasing his loyalty to Imperium fivefold. He was now about 34 years old, with his black hair cropped in a severe crew cut. Cortez had been in many battles and skirmishes, shown in the few gray hairs on his head, the deep pits and scratches on his green helmet, the wrinkles and scars on his hardened face. The gold insignia on his helmet was one of his few pride and joys: along with his customized assault rifle, the skull and two wings was a polished gleaming star in the midst of a war-marked green field. Cortez's face used to be handsome, but continual fighting had marred it in more ways than one. A jagged scar stretched from just under his right temple to the right side of his lips, and a slightly smaller scar ran down the length of the left side of his face, from his hairline to his jaw. The body under his green DPM (disruption-pattern material) fatigues was muscled and lean, as a result of harsh training regimes.

Cortez was in division 1, squadron 5, squad Delta: squad leader. Including him there were 12 men in his squad, hand-picked for the positions that they would be best suited to. There was Marcus, his second-in-command, chosen for his extraordinary leadership skills, his ability to adapt to whatever situation he was faced with, and undying loyalty. The three medics, Philip, John and Robin, each chosen for stamina, speed and the ability to concentrate under incredible pressure. The two snipers, Alex and Mark, chosen for resistance to fatigue, marksmanship and observational skills. And finally the five speed-assault troops: Charles, Eric, Scott, Jean and Edward, each displaying stamina, speed and accuracy in great amounts. These handpicked soldiers formed Cortez's Delta squad, and they trusted each other implicitly.

Continuous training and fighting had welded them into a tight-knit squad, and they acted as such. In battle they covered each other virtually without communication, seeming to know exactly how their teammates would act and moving to cover their vulnerable areas. The medics could be trusted to patch up the deepest of cuts and even bring others back from the brink of death. The snipers could take down the most armored of foes, with their arsenal of different bullets for a variety of foes. They could be trusted to report on events during battle, giving advice and commands where necessary. Their advice proved invaluable more than once when blind-spots were numerous, and often resulted in the continued survival of the team. And of course, the speed-assault troops could rush into the thick of battle and cut a swathe through enemies, clearing a way for the rest of the squad. Alone they could deal significant amounts of damage to enemies. Together they could wreak havoc upon the unjust and bring them to face the hammer of justice.

Cortez was dispatched with the other squadron 5 teams: Alpha, Beta, Charlie and Echo. If Delta squad was like a family of 12 members then squadron 5 was like the extended family: uncles, aunties, grandparents and so on. Squadron 5 got along with each other so well that they were commended by the squadron commander. Fondly nicknamed "Artemis" after the god "Artemis the Hunter" by troops who admired his skill with a sniper rifle, Artemis was the grand-daddy of Squadron 5: friendly and comradely, yet strict and unforgiving on the battlefield. All of Squadron 5 looked to him for guidance and advice, orders and intelligence. He had the perfect balance of compassion and the harsh requirement for perfection. Cortez was sincerely grateful to be part of Squadron 5, to be under the wing of Artemis. He was sure that his squad members felt the same way.

Cortez was shaken from his short nap by the sudden jolt of their heavy-duty air transport lifting off. Thrust back in his thinly-padded seat, Cortez turned over his mission in his mind for the hundredth time. Squadron 5 had been sent to the mountains of the north. It seemed that the orks named the "Bloodaz" had set up a strong-hold in the safety of the mountains. They were soon joined by the Warboss "Big Blooda" and soon they had amassed enough resources to become a credible threat. Originally Squadron 5 was meant to follow the other Squadrons to attack the main settlement of the orks in the northern region. However the Council had finally labeled the "Bloodaz" as a potential threat and as a result Cortez was on his way to the mountains.

However Cortez felt that there was something fishy about this situation. It wasn't anything that could be clarified with or be dissected and examined by logic. It was the sixth sense, the gut instinct that was flashing the warning light. As he was brooding on this, a harsh metallic voice announced, "T-minus 20 to drop-site. T-minus 20 to drop-site." _Damn that was quick_, Cortez muttered. "All right, troops!" Cortez bellowed over the sound of their transport. "You know the drill! We are executing a HALO. You have 20 minutes to prepare your equipment." Upon hearing his words, eyes sharpened and backs straightened in anticipation. A HALO was a High Altitude Low Opening jump. As the full name suggests, troops jumped out of the aircraft at a high altitude, free-fell for some time and opened their parachute at a relatively low altitude. Risks presented themselves in the multitude. HALOs were only attempted after weeks of training, and with good reason. Free-falling from a high altitude allows you to reach terminal velocity quickly- the speed at which you cannot go any faster due to the laws of physics. The low opening meant your parachute could not slow you down very much and you hit the ground at a high speed. However, these risks were braved because of the huge benefits. Little time with a parachute over your head presented a smaller and less-noticeable target. Hitting the ground at speed meant that if you knew what you were doing you could translate the speed into lateral movement and come in firing. And best of all, the adrenal rush meant that your heart and lungs were pumping, morale at its highest: essential for a successful assault.

Finally the harsh voice sounded again. "T-minus 1 to drop-site. T-minus 1 to drop-site. Standby for green light." Cortez shouted a series of quick orders. "Troops, forrrrrrrrrrm up!" Delta squad rose and lined up as one, faces alight and intent. "Buddy check!" Each man checked the man in front, eyes looking for any loose equipment, rips in the parachute bag, anything that could jeopardize the maneuver. Cortez spotted Marcus holding a long black case in his hands. "Marcus, why are you bringing your musical instrument along?" Cortez inquired.

"I have this feeling sir." Marcus answered without the slightest grin to acknowledge his superior's joke. "I think that this may come in handy." Cortez trusted his second-in-command and so let him be.

Across the large bay of their transport Cortez saw the other squad leaders doing the same. As one, the troops finished their checks and bellowed as one, "Ready to go, sir!" The five leaders spun on their heels and echoed their cry to Artemis who was standing in front of the door leading to open sky. Right on cue, the buzzer sounded harshly and the door started to open.

Wind nipped through the crack, wound around everyone and caused everything to move and flap with a mind of its own. Artemis stood in front of the fully open door, back perfectly straight; legs spread shoulder length and hands planted firmly on his hips; face alight with adrenaline and eyes alight. His air of confidence was contagious and soon all the men amassed there felt completely confident in their skills, each other and Artemis himself. With a great roar of "Lock and Load!" Artemis ignited the courage buried within every individual on his feet in the hangar. "To Battle!" he cried, and the rallying cry was echoed by every single person in that hangar. The green light came on and the buzz sounded again. In perfect formation each squad lined up and jumped into open sky as one unbroken line. Immediately they disappeared, dropping so quickly that the human eye could not catch it.

At last it was Delta squad's turn. They lined up at the door to the sky, to whatever hell lay in wait for them. Cortez walked forwards, turned and met the eyes of everyone in the squad, and they met his gaze squarely. Cortez knew he trusted them with his life, and they with him. They were closer than brothers, and this made them strong. The buzz sounded again, and at that signal they reformed the line and jumped into open air as one.


	3. Chapter 2

Speed. Super speed. Falling fast. Getting faster all the time. Making an effort to look sideways. Meeting the eyes of his teammates. Grabbing hold of each other. Maintaining the line. Sharing their exhilaration through touch alone. Shattering the mood as a harsh beeping comes from their belts. Look down. Spot the altimeter. Reached terminal velocity. Reached checkpoint 1. 1 minute to chute opening. Nod at each other. Let go of each other. Drift apart. Still in a line. Continuous beeping. Finally a shrill ring. Signal for parachute opening. Check that ripcord is in hand. Yank down hard. Sudden jerk as chute opens and catches air. Feel like arms and shoulders are dislocated. Grab onto cables that steer. Slowing fast. Ground hurtling to meet them. Still going fast. Landing imminent. Remember lessons. Soften knees. Unclench teeth- landing with clenched teeth causes you to lose them. Prepare to go into a roll. Let go of cords. Check weapon is in place. 3… 2… 1… _Impact._

Cortez hit the ground at speed, and immediately went into a series of somersaults. Rolling continuously, feeling the canopy start to bunch up, Cortez felt that his speed had lowered sufficiently and so bounced to his feet and ran forwards instead of rolling. Pulling the tabs on his harness he felt the parachute drop away, leaving the white, tough material in a pile behind him. A tangle of cords, white fabric and a steel frame allowed him to land safely, and Cortez spared a thought for the genius tech priests who had come up with the idea in the first place. Slowing gradually, still pounding the hard-set ground with callused feet. Cortez reached back and unholstered his companion, partner and savior: his heavily customized assault rifle. Lightweight and accurate, the rifle designed by Squadron 5 had quickly caught on with the other troops specializing in assault. It was light enough for commandos and speed-assault teams to use when approaching the enemy, yet accurate enough to be trusted to hit the targets that they were aimed at. It packed enough punch to penetrate ork armor, but it did not fare at all well against heavily armored foes. Even against minor warchiefs you had to be relatively close to penetrate their heavy, augmented armor. For the majority of firefights and skirmishes these setbacks were minor, as other weapons had been designed for these situations. As long as they could take out other infantrymen it was a useful weapon. However, Cortez was not satisfied with this limitation. It could prove fatal in encounters with the elites of the other races. With this in mind, he adjusted, augmented and recalibrated his rifle to enable him to take down heavily-armed and –armored foes. The rifle is fired by the focusing of a heat beam into a thin laser that tries to lance through the foe. Cortez discovered that, by increasing the output of the cartridge per shot, he could increase the power of the laser twofold. The downside was that the rifle would require additionally-strengthened components to cope with the additional power. But this was not enough. Cortez attached an under-slung grenade launcher just in front of the magazine. The grenade launcher was supported by the left hand, the right holding the rear grip and pulling the trigger. It was fired by pressing the button on the grenade launcher twice, which was located under the left thumb. It functions to propel grenades far faster and further than a soldier could by hand. It fired single shots, and had a grenade had to be inserted by hand after every shot. The advantage of this was that Cortez could load whatever grenade was suited to the situation. The hand grenades produced shrapnel during detonation, designed to cut through or embed themselves in flesh, causing death by severe injuries or blood loss. Smoke grenades produced thick billowing clouds of smoke that masked movement, as well as burned the exposed throats and eyes of victims. Finally, plasma grenades were the most advanced of the lot, producing super-heated plasma that burned skin and ruptured blood vessels. However, Cortez paid for this with one very important factor that could determine his fate in a life or death situation: the grenade launcher was _heavy_. Cortez had had to undergo special stamina training to allow him to run with the additional load. Still, it was a worthy trade, as the grenade launcher would prove to be invaluable to Cortez in the war to come.

Alongside him the rest of Delta carried out the same maneuvers and they formed their usual arrow-head formation. The speed-assault members, with Marcus and Cortez at the tip formed the spearhead. Behind them the medics could travel in relative safety, while providing firing support with their machine guns. Finally the snipers Alex and Mark covered the back of the squad and could move to the side and take up firing positions when faced with enemies. This formation had been developed and improved in training and now this formation was as natural to them as breathing.

Alex and Mark, with their sharp eyesight were the first to spot the orks up ahead. Delta squad was traveling along a sloping plane with sparse grass and little cover. The pair of snipers moved to the sides of the squad and crouched down, set up their rifles and prepared to shoot at the fast-approaching enemies. Cortez gave the order to fan out, and the rest of his team spread out to minimize the target presented to the advancing enemies. Up ahead the orks were descending from the base of the mountain that was their stronghold. Only just spotting Delta squad, their leader roared fiercely and charged directly at them. The rest of them followed suit, some brandishing bloodstained axes in both hands, others wielding flame-throwers, heavy machine guns and rocket launchers. Alex and Mark started methodically taking down the largest threats- those with machine guns and flame-throwers. The leader seemed to be slightly more intelligent than his bloodthirsty brethren and bellowed in their harsh guttural language. Cortez didn't understand the language, but his eyes widened in shock when he saw what they were doing. They were drawing their attention. They were roaring mindlessly, firing wildly. No planning or formation was apparent, so Delta squad was focusing on them to make sure they didn't make a sudden move. However Cortez happened to glance to his left, and spotted shapes moving near the ground. "Alex, check left!" Cortez commanded. Alex swiveled his body and rifle to where Cortez pointed, and what he saw through his sniper rifle's scope made his eyes widen in shock.

"Goddamn," Alex murmured. "Goddamn! Mark check left!" He yelled suddenly. At his unexpected cry everyone turned their heads sharply to the left. Even without the powerful scope of the snipers what they were seeing was apparent. No less than 10 stolen Leman Russ tanks were rumbling on spiked treads towards them, armed and manned to the teeth. Originally tanks owned by the Imperial Guard, the orks had stolen them and converted them to their own uses. Their clan symbol- two bloodied axes crossed over a human skull- was crudely painted onto each of the tanks' sides. Extra turrets had been added, each armed with a manned machine gun. Two shorter gun barrels were crudely mounted in the front of the tank, punched through the armor underneath the main cannon: .35 caliber machine guns. One hit from those and unconsciousness was likely, death more than possible.

Cortez was amazed. Seeing one of those stolen tanks meant that you had made someone annoyed. Seeing two meant that he wanted you eradicated. Seeing five meant that you had seriously pissed someone in a high-up place off. And if seeing five meant that, imagine what seeing ten meant. As the initial shock wore off, voices of other Squadron 5 men pierced the shell of incredulity around his mind. The other squads were encountering similar firepower and were as amazed as he was. The Bloodaz were a relatively small clan, one that enjoyed killing more than orks normally did. Where they had managed to amass such armaments was beyond Cortez, as well as all the others.

A crack of a sniper rifle sounding nearby shattered Cortez's train of thought. Alex, having regained his cool began firing calmly at strategic spots on the first tank. He shot at the side-mounted gun turrets, the place where the driver looked out, and the engine whenever it was revealed. Mark followed his lead, and together managed to disable the lead tank. It shuddered to a halt, most of its crew dead, engine useless and treads motionless. However the other 9 were advancing quickly and Cortez, Alex and Mark all knew that this method of attack was fruitless. The tanks would be upon them long before they could dismantle each one.

"Fall back! Fall back!" Giving the order was a shot to Cortez's pride and self-confidence. Squadron 5 had always prided itself on its self-sufficiency and mutual trust. However he knew that the odds were stacked against them and made the logical decision. His loyal team members followed his orders, but many faces echoed what Cortez was feeling.

Suddenly a voice spoke. "Sir, I think this might do the trick." The entire squad did an about-turn and saw Marcus with his black case on the ground, opened. What Cortez saw gave him an entirely new lease of life, and the entire squad cheered, reinvigorated. Lying in the black case was a weapon designed for infantrymen, relatively compact and packing a punch a whole magnitude greater than any other standard kit weapon. Lying in the case the infamous anti-tank weapon designed for use by infantry: the rocket launcher.

The infantry-orientated version of the rocket launcher was a far cry from the original design. The first rocket launcher was a long, chunky cylinder, bristling with telescopic sights, safety trigger and the works. The rockets were loaded manually into the back of the tube and locked into place with two switches. Shooting required looking through the sights, aiming the crosshairs at the target and pulling both the safety trigger and the main trigger to fire. This created several problems. The main one was time. Reloading each missile manually left a huge window of opportunity for the opposing troops to locate you and shoot you. Even with a partner to help with the reloading took much longer than was preferable. Even so, it was the first innovation that allowed ground troops to penetrate heavy armor with minimal fuss.

However, in the natural course of evolution the design was improved many times. The result was something like the design being used by Delta squad. The reloading mechanism had been improved. Now instead of slotting the missile into a tube, you slotted the whole tube onto a launcher! This wasted material but was much more effective efficiency-wise. The launcher was called a gripstock, and it was similar to the grips of their rifles. It was basically a handle molded to fit the contours of the user's hands. The trigger didn't have the finger guard, the quarter-circle of material that was in front of the trigger; instead it was what was called a large trigger. It was like a corner of material with rounded edges. Pushing it in would prepare the missile for firing. Pressing it again would fire it. However on top of the handle was a long semi-circular length of material that extended both ways. In front was a second handle for steadying the missile your other hand. The length of material behind the trigger rested on your shoulder, providing a kind of three-point stability. A scope extended to the left of the gripstock, between the two triggers. The tubes slotted neatly onto the semi-circular length and automatically locked itself into place. Reloading was much faster: after firing the missile inside the tube it would unlock itself. You just had to tilt it to the side and it would roll off. Then slot a new one into place and you could fire again.

The infantry version was exactly the same. However improvements are always available and some had been made. The resulting model was even more compact than the widely-used model. The missile tubes were thinner and more compact, as well as shorter. It wasted less material, weighed less and more could be packed into the holding case. Even though they did not have as much punch as previous models, it was good enough for many models of tank. Also, new research had been made and it was calculated that the missiles lost some of their power because they exploded on impact. This caused most of the explosion to be directed at the strong armor of the tank. However the research department had found a new metal alloy that was very strong but also very heavy. It was an ideal tip for the missile, as it could partially penetrate armor at high speeds. It lost most of its forward velocity quickly because only the tip penetrated the armor. The rear half is lighter and so loses velocity quickly. The effects of the additional weight were minimal because they were only used in small quantities- just enough to cover the tip of a missile. At close range the difference was barely noticeable. At longer range it could be offset by aiming slightly higher than the target, and as tanks are large it is hard to miss.

With the ease of long practice, Marcus slid a missile tube out of the case and slotted it into the gripstock. With a _click_ the mechanism secured the tube into place. The white tube was aimed at the first tank, looking deceptively harmless, nothing more than a hollow tube of white plastic. "That tank's gonna have no idea what hit it," Alex murmured to a round of chuckles. Nodding in what looked like agreement, Marcus set his eye to the scope and depressed the trigger once, twice. On the second press the missile flew from the gripstock with a quiet _shoom_, leaving only a white smoke trail to mark its deadly, arrow-straight path.

The missile hugged the ground, heading directly for the tank low and fast. Unlike its more common brethren used by specialist anti-tank infantrymen, the missile traveled subsonic- below the speed of sound. This meant two things: it was built to achieve maximum effect subsonic, therefore the launching system would not have to be too powerful and therefore bulky and unwieldy; and more importantly it did not break the sound barrier with a BOOM that could alert the targets and allow them to shoot it down with a machinegun- a feat achieved many a time. The subsonic missile only left a tell-tale white trail in the air, and this trail is often overlooked because it is usually low to the ground as well as small.

_The mechanics are complicated_, reflected Cortez, _but the use is so simple that it is often misused. We try to make things easier to use, but doesn't that just present our enemies with another weapon to add to their arsenal? _Cortez tried to banish the blasphemous thought from his mind. _Never doubt the wisdom of the tech priests. They create and maintain the weapons of justice. They are what make it possible to annihilate those who defy the word of justice. Doubt them and you doubt the power of the Imperium and its power to bring the hammer of justice down upon those who have wronged. _The words of Artemis rang in his ears as clearly as if he was still a fresh recruit being spoken to by the legendary Artemis. His lessons were all clear in his mind, always there for him to review. If he sought purpose in his fighting the lessons of Artemis always served to clear his view and illuminate the road. The resounding yet warm voice of his superior often served to calm him even in the midst of battle and he was grateful for the source of inner peace.

The white trail of the missile ended abruptly with a screech of metal on metal. The trail ended to the left of the main barrel, where the missile had penetrated the armor. The timing was spotless, the sensors dead on. Once the metal tip had penetrated the hull of the tank the explosive detonated. A fireball billowed out in the four directions of the compass with the entry point as north. The gunners were pulverized, green flesh burned beyond all recognition. Drivers suffered the same fate, and those who did not were blown up into bloody pieces by the result of the meeting between fireball and fuel tank. Charred shrapnel flew out in a deadly wave, propelled by the immense power of the explosion. A shouted "Down!" from Cortez received the instantaneous response of the entire squad immediately dropping down, flat on the ground. A split second later a wall of jagged metal, some with ragged flesh streaming behind, flew above the head of the members of Delta.

However one member didn't duck fast enough. Scott had been shooting at the orks when the command to duck came. He had been distracted for a split second and when his training kicked in and he dropped to the ground, the metal had pounded into his right arm, pulverizing everything below the elbow. Once the shrapnel had flown past, both John and Robin had converged on the pain-wracked spread-eagled body of Scott and set to work easing his pain and doing whatever they could to return him to the fray.

Cortez had scrambled to his feet after the wave and immediately ran to the prone Scott's side. _Oh no, not again. _Cortez despaired silently. _Please don't let me lose another brother again. _"Will he be alright?" Cortez asked John over the noise of battle fire.

"Yessir, he'll be fine and dandy once we give him a hit of painkiller," John answered in his deep drawl, still working feverishly on Scott's ruined arm.

_Thank goodness for that_, Cortez thought to himself, _if I lost Scott as well I don't know how I would cope. _Marcus shot him a knowing glance over his shoulder, which Cortez answered with a grateful smile. _Now get back into the fray, you lazy boy! _He could almost hear Artemis' mock angry yell in his ears. _Yessir,_ he responded inwardly, cringing.

"Marcus! Take care of the rest of the tanks! The rest of you, defensive formation! We take care of any ground troops heading our way. Any greenskin even _looks_ at us wrong, take him down! Alright, move move MOVE!" Cortez shouted in a rapid series of orders.

Marcus took his place behind one of the rocks that formed part of the debris on the ground. Carrying his case with him he set up his anti-tank position and started firing his deadly loads of ordinance. The rest of Delta spread out in a circle around Marcus, leaving a gap for him to shoot through. Scott had been given a heavy dose of painkiller, courtesy of the medics, and now brandished his rifle one handed and shot methodically at the orks. Most of Delta aimed at the main moving body of greenskins that had tried to draw their attention. The remainder rained bullets at the orks that accompanied the tanks that were being demolished one by one. Cortez had learned from the earlier casualty and ordered everyone to fire prone- flat on the ground. Lying prone allowed the shrapnel to fly over you instead of through you, which was a definite plus. Marcus could duck behind the rock when his rocket exploded and brought death in the form of shrapnel.

Working seamlessly as a team, the squad firing at two different enemies each held them off as well as a whole platoon of men. Firing at strategic points and people could trip up four or five orks by dropping a single one. They knew instinctively who was going to fire at whom and so not a single bullet was wasted firing into the same target. To this end, the second half were recalled and told to fire at the main body by a calculated Cortez. He had realized that Marcus' ordinance could kill many of the orks travelling close to or with the tanks, either by fireball or by shrapnel. Many a time Cortez had noticed that an ork had been cut down by rifle fire, only to be burnt to a crisp or pulverized a second later. One of his lessons rang in his ears as a crisp reminder. _Wasting ammunition can be a large step on the road to defeat. _

_Yes, Artemis._

Cortez aimed carefully and picked his targets along with the rest of the squad. He killed them with a vengeance, picking the most bloodied and killing them with prejudice. _I will avenge you, mother, father. Every ork shall know the pain you knew._

Marcus, attuned to Cortez's moods as always, looked at him worriedly. He for one knew of Cortez's painful past. The loss of his biological parents, killed by orks in cold blood; the death of half his first squad, whom he had grown up with for the first part of his life.

They had grown up as a squad from the beginning. Most were drafted in as babies from either parents who wanted to serve the country, or found out on the streets. They had grown up together, apart as little as possible, even closer than brothers. Then came the fateful day when their squad had been ambushed by orks, on one of the days just after the first invasion by those monsters. It had been a massacre.

His original squad had been travelling through a canyon, heading back to HQ after a successful mission. They had been relaxed and enjoying the scenery, because their scouts had reported the area clear. As they traveled through the canyon, suddenly a short transmission had shattered the mood completely. A static-filled line that had been connected to each of their headsets had exploded into life: "Orks!" This single word had been followed by a harsh scream from a hoarse throat and a single wet _splat_._The sound of an ork axe chopping through flesh. _Cortez had thought, shocked. _The scouts. Oh no…_

An ear-splitting, guttural roar had echoed off the walls of the canyon. As their heads and weapons jerked up, Cortez's squad had instinctively formed a defensive formation. Backs against each other in a rough circle, guns pointing outwards, the squad had started to edge towards the exit leading to HQ. In an unexpected move, the orks had suddenly pulled back from the lips of the canyon, vanishing from sight. "What the…" a voice had said over the sets. A trio of hand explosives had suddenly appeared from the lip of the canyon, bounced off the walls and cris-crossed their way down. "Nade!" the warning for a grenade had exploded into their ears and as one single organism they had lowered their weapons, abandoned their formation and sprinted towards the exit.

After what had seemed like a second to Cortez and his men, the grenades had hit the dusty floor of the canyon, bounced up and exploded with an unholy might. The ensuing explosion had split the air like the voice of God. A threesome of flames had shot skywards and breached the lip of the canyon, frying an unwary ork. Within the canyon itself, a roaring stream of flames had burst into life, shooting down the canyon in both directions, like a powerful stream of water forced through a tiny opening. It had hugged the walls closely, leaving no gaps between itself and the solid walls. Any outcroppings that dared get in the raging flame's way had been fried to oblivion, melted off the face of the earth. _Geez that is one huge ball of hell,_ Cortez had screamed silently when looking over his shoulder at the impeding disaster. "MOVE MEN MOVE!" Cortez had screamed at his fellow troops and as one they lowered their heads even further and pumped their legs as if their lives depended on it, which ironically they did.

The fire had been closing in on them with a vengeance.

A sliver of light ahead had marked the exit of the death-trap canyon.

Suddenly a thought had leapt unbidden into Cortez's mind.

_We aren't going to make it._


End file.
